“How are you doing?” Jillian asked again, concern evident in her voice. “I don’t want you overtaxing yourself. If you get tired, you’re to let me know, okay?”
“It’s a promise,” I said.
Let me cut in here again and tell you something. I really enjoy having an attractive woman fawn over me. I can definitely get used to it, especially when I actually needed the help. Again, not that I’d ever admit that.
“Do you think Dame Highland ever had the real Czarina’s Tear?” I asked, as we headed to the living room.
Jillian nodded, “I do. I mean, think about it. Take that Fabergé egg, for example. It’s Russian. It was stolen from the Russian Royal Family. What do you want to bet that egg, along with Czarina’s Tear, were gifts from a prospective suitor?”
I shrugged, and then bit my tongue to keep myself from groaning aloud.
“Robert tells me they’re going to begin repairing and replacing the wallpaper upstairs. The electrician will also be onsite, since he needs to identify… Zachary? What are the dogs doing?”
Sherlock had suddenly perked up, as though someone had blown a dog whistle. Watson had perked up, too, only she was a few seconds behind Sherlock. Together, the dogs rose to their feet and headed for the stairs. Detecting taut leashes, both dogs turned to look back, but not at me. They were watching Jillian, as if they knew she was the one to talk to when it came to the control of their leashes.
“Should we follow?” my girlfriend asked.
I painfully rose to my feet, “Sure. We’d be fools not to see where the two of them take us, especially in this house.”
The dogs led us up the stairs, slowly, as if they knew I had trouble keeping up, which I did. Jillian had given the dogs as much of the slack as she could, which afforded her the ability to follow me up the stairs. What she was going to do, if I lost balance, was beyond me. I had at least a hundred pounds on her.
“We’re back in the master bedroom,” Jillian observed, as we walked through the large double doors. “What’s in here, guys? Is there something you need us to see?”
Sherlock and Watson walked straight over to the large bas-relief sculpture encompassing the entire eastern wall of the room and immediately sat. Curious, the two of us approached the large carving and then stared at each other. Sherlock turned his head just then, looked straight at me, and then woofed once. Then, the tri-colored corgi returned his attention to the huge piece of art.
“I’m not sure what we’re looking for,” I confessed. “Yes, this is a magnificent piece of work, but what the significance is, I don’t know.”
About ready to say something, Jillian’s mouth suddenly closed. Curious, she edged closer and ran her hands along the many intricate details that had been incorporated into the sculpture. Her hand stopped and then her index finger started tapping.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Have you looked at this thing?” Jillian wanted to know. “I mean, really looked? It’s covered with carvings.”
“I can see that.”
“No, I mean, look at the carvings. This is a tower. If you look closer, you can see Rapunzel at the window, and strands of her hair have been let down, almost to the ground.”
I nodded as I studied the scene, “That’s pretty cool.”
“And this here?” Jillian continued, as she moved to another scene. “This looks like it depicts a forest. See? There’s a path running through the trees. And look! There’s Little Red Riding Hood.”
I nodded again, “Okay. I see that. So, it’s full of nursery rhymes? Is that it?”
“Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” Jillian reported, tapping a scene depicting the inside of a cottage and three bears seated at a table. “Here’s a workshop with… are those shoes?”
“The Elves and the Shoemaker,” I said. “I know the story.”
“The Elves and the Shoemaker,” Jillian repeated. “Zachary, the whole sculpture is filled with nothing but fairy tales.”
I suddenly remembered Sherlock and Watson running free inside Cookbook Nook and where they had stopped, namely the Specialty Cakes section. If memory serves, Jillian had a picture hanging on the wall right beside the display.
“Specialty Cakes,” I whispered.
“What was that?” Jillian asked. “What about it?”
“Your store. Your Specialty Cake section? Sherlock and Watson broke free and were found sitting in front of that section. Refresh my memory. Don’t you have a picture hanging right next to that display?”
Jillian nodded, “I do, it’s… you’re kidding! Are you serious? That picture is a scene from Hansel and Gretel!!”
“Another fairy tale,” I said, as I looked down at the dogs. “And every time we come in here, the dogs are looking this way. Honey, what do you want to bet there’s something else we need to discover with this carving?”
Jillian fell silent. Concerned, I looked her way. She was looking at me, almost as if I had started speaking tongues. Had I? Said something weird, that is?
“You called me ‘honey’,” Jillian said. She gave me a warm smile. “Michael called me that all the time.”
“Oh. Uh, I’m sorry. I can…”
“No, don’t you dare. Don’t tell me you’ll find something else to call me. I like it.”
I smiled back, “You’re on. Now, what do we need to do here?”
“Well, let’s see. We have four fairy tales represented so far. Can we spot any others?”
“This looks like Aladdin’s lamp,” I said, as I pointed to an almost life-sized replica of the genie’s lamp. “That belongs to the genie, right?”
Jillian nodded, “I believe so. Okay, we’re up to five. Now, what about that castle? Whoever carved it did a fantastic job. There’s so much detail! Why, it even looks as though one of the windows is a keyhole. How strange.”
“Is that from a fairy tale?” I asked.
Jillian shook her head, “No, not that I’m aware of.”
“There’s a dragon over here,” I said, as I tapped an area in the top right portion of the carving. “Weird. It has two heads.”
“There’s a sea on the left,” Jillian reported, “and it looks like there’s a pirate ship being attacked by a sea serpent. I don’t know what fairy tale that’s from, either.”
We spent the next hour studying every square inch of the wall. Oddly enough, we couldn’t identify any other fairy tales, only the five: Goldilocks, Red Riding Hood, Elves and the Shoemaker, Rapunzel, and Aladdin.
So, what the hell does it all mean?
“I’m at a loss.”
“I’m not sure what we need to do, either,” Jillian admitted. “It’s almost as if… Zachary! This piece moved!”
I hurried – as best as I could – over to her side. Jillian’s hand was resting on the tiny hammer the Shoemaker was holding. Sure enough, I could see that it was gently pivoting in place, alternating from the ‘ready-to-strike’ position to the head resting on the tiny table. Bemused, Jillian left the hammer in the ‘down’ position and tried a few of the other tools. They, too, pivoted in place. Eager to see what else was interactive, Jillian began poking and prodding the scene. When she pressed on the shoe the Shoemaker was holding, we were surprised to see it recess a fraction of an inch and emit a soft click.
“It’s a button!” Jillian exclaimed. “Oh, how clever!”
“What is?” I wanted to know.
“This whole carving,” Jillian explained, sweeping her arm across the fairy tale-themed bas-relief. “It’s a giant puzzle!”
“Does anything else move?” I eagerly asked.
Jillian checked other various parts of the Shoemaker scene, but the tools were the only items that were able to be moved.
“Nothing else here. Let’s try another scene.”
Several minutes later, Jillian let out another exclamation of surprise.
“The trees! Here, next to Red Riding Hood. These three, no, four trees can move! Not much, mind you, but just enough to signify… well, i
t could signify the trees swaying in the wind.”
“Are any of them buttons?”
“No. Let me see. Oh! Look! Red’s basket!” I then heard a soft click. “The basket is the button. How exciting!”
“Look for more!” I suggested. “There are three other scenes. There must be more buttons!”
I was right. The tip of Rapunzel’s hair, resting just above the ground, swung gently to the left and right. Plus, several birds sitting on the windowsill next to Rapunzel could also be moved. This scene’s button turned out to be the weather vane on the top of the tower.
As for Goldilocks, all three heads of the bears moved, as if they were going to look at each other. The button ended up being the head of the baby bear. As soon as Jillian pressed the fourth, we heard a louder click and just like that, all the ‘buttons’ were back to their original positions.
“We have to hit them in the correct order,” I guessed.
Jillian nodded, “I can get on board with that. But… wait. What about Aladdin?”
My eyes moved over to the carved representation of the lamp. Being the closest to it, I gently poked and prodded the wooden carving, but much to my chagrin, nothing moved. Not only that, there didn’t seem to be anything else to Aladdin’s scene beside the lamp. What that meant, I didn’t know.
As I was studying the lamp, trying to ascertain its role in the puzzle, my writer’s brain kicked in. These were fairy tales we’re talking about. What if… what if the order of the buttons is the order in which the stories were published?
“Order of publication,” I suddenly announced. “I think that’s the order of the buttons.”
Jillian nodded, “I’ll buy that. Do you know when these were published?”
I pulled out my phone, “I will momentarily. Let’s see. Aladdin and His Magic Lamp was published… wow. It was published before 1709. As for Rapunzel, well, Google says it was published around 1812. The Elves and the Shoemaker was 1806, and Little Red Riding Hood was 1695.”
“You forgot Goldilocks,” Jillian reminded me.
“Right. Sorry. Goldilocks… that was 1837.”
Jillian turned back to the huge bas-relief.
“All right. If we drop Aladdin out of the picture, since there doesn’t seem to be a button over there, then that would mean the oldest is Little Red Riding Hood.” She pressed the basket. “Then, it’d be the Elves and the Shoemaker.” The shoe was pressed. “Up next, we have Rapunzel.” The weather vane clicked when pressed. “And finally, we have Goldilocks.” The baby bear’s head was pressed.
My mouth opened, intent on asking, “What now?”, only before I could say anything, Aladdin’s lamp popped free of the carving. I actually managed to catch it before it could fall to the floor.
“Nice reflexes!” Jillian praised.
I was about to hand the thing over when I noticed the lid of the lamp move. Curious, I lifted the lid and looked inside. Shocked senseless, I turned to Jillian and gently rotated the lamp.
Something large and heavy, wrapped in black felt, tumbled into my hand. I carefully unwrapped it and damn near dropped it when I saw what it contained. It was green, sparkly, and the size of a chicken egg: Czarina’s Tear!
EPILOGUE
“You should’ve told me! Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, you could sell it and probably make a fortune off of this. Collectors love this kind of thing.”
“Don’t you, as well?” Jillian asked. “If I want to give this to you, then you can honor me by accepting.”
I felt my face flush with embarrassment.
I guess I should explain. The dogs, Jillian, and I were on another road trip. This time, we were on our way to San Francisco. The Consulate General of Russia had notified us and asked us to appear in person so that we could be personally thanked for returning a priceless treasure to the Russian people. While uncertain what the Russians had in store for us, Jillian decided to make the best of it by arranging a week-long trip to the San Francisco area. She even made reservations at hotels which would allow dogs.
So, here we were, heading for San Francisco, only I wasn’t driving my Jeep, and Jillian wasn’t driving her Toyota Highlander. We were, instead, driving the car I had seen in many pictures in the last month or so. We were in Dame Highland’s roadster: a 1930 Ruxton Sedan.
This automobile is a car enthusiast’s delight. I’ll be the first to admit that I really wasn’t a car lover, but this one would make a believer out of me. Where had it been located after all these years? Well, as it turns out, it was never really missing. In order to understand what had happened to it, I’d have to remind you how I mentioned just how much Hilda Highland enjoyed her car. She didn’t just like it, she loved it. She took great pains in making sure her car was well cared for. Apparently, she sank so much money into her car’s care that she created an ongoing agreement with the local garage. Once a month, the local garage would send a mechanic to Dame Highland’s house and do a routine check-up. Repairs and replacement parts, regardless of the bill, would be taken care of by Dame Highland herself.
Knowing a routine like this would be expensive, and inevitably monotonous, Dame Highland deposited thousands of dollars into an account at the bank, to be accessed only by the mechanics. It was also written, in the contract she had drawn up with the garage, that, if for some reason, she was unable to keep the necessary funds in the bank to pay for the car’s care, then the car’s ownership would then pass to the garage if the car was kept in perfect working order.
When the garage took possession of the car for its monthly maintenance after Dame Highland was killed, they were unsure where to store the car, so they therefore kept the car in their spare garage. When a storage unit complex was built nearby almost twenty years later (yes, the same one Jillian was currently renting a unit from), the car was moved to an empty unit, and the funds in the bank paid for the storage fees.
Now, after all these years, the money in the bank was nearing depletion. The local garage, which changed names several times, but eventually settled on Rupert’s Gas & Auto, should be familiar to everyone in Pomme Valley, seeing how it’s the town’s main gas station. That was why Mr. Rupert had been calling for Jillian. Since the Highland name had been a loyal customer for so many years, Vince Rupert, the present owner of the station, didn’t feel comfortable taking ownership of the car. Therefore, once contact had been finally made, and Jillian realized she now owned a vintage automobile in what enthusiasts would call ‘cherry’ condition, she selflessly gave the car to me. I hadn’t realized I had made all those comments about Dame Highland’s favorite mode of transportation, but Jillian had obviously remembered.
Later, it was discovered that Jillian had been right. Dame Highland had a steady stream of suitors, and one of them, a Russian by the name of… wow. I forget his name. Then again, it was a hard name to remember. It had a lot of vowels in it. Anyway, Count Whatshisname, rumored to be a distant relative of the Romanov family, must have absconded with the egg in an effort to win over Hilda’s hand in marriage. We’re guessing the Tear was also smuggled out of Russia at the same time, but since there’s no documentation on its origins, Jillian became the rightful owner. At present, it was currently sitting in the vault of some bank in Portland, awaiting authentication from a certified gemologist, which I didn’t even know was a profession.
Whatever.
Speaking of jewels, I should also mention, with regards to Dame Highland’s missing collection, that it has been found. Kinda. Armed with the knowledge that Hilda had hidden the jewelry in plain sight, Jillian and I launched a thorough, systematic investigation of every single piece of furniture. Yes, it took a while, but… we found several more necklaces, countless bracelets and rings, and even a few tiaras hidden away in plain sight inside the house. Then, on a suggestion from me, we went to the storage unit and did the same to the furniture that had been removed from the house.
Two more necklaces, each more exquisite than the first, were discovered. A pair of sapphire earrin
gs turned up in a previously explored – empty – credenza. Have we found all the pieces? I have no idea. Dame Highland didn’t keep a running tab of what she had, and where she had hidden it. We’ll simply keep searching. Who knows what secrets that mysterious house will turn up next? Only time will tell.
THE END
Zack and the dogs will be back in
Case of the Ostentatious Otters!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed taking you back to Pomme Valley. Each time we visit, I have to ask myself: what’s different? As with any towns, things change. Businesses fold, others are created. Relationships falter, while new ones start up all the time. As for Zack, I’m gently, but assuredly, steering him toward a permanent path with Jillian. Will they ever get married?
As for Lentari Cellars, I still have to admit I don’t care for wine. At all. But… I’m certainly learning a helluva lot more about it. How to make it, how to nurture the vines, when to harvest, etc. Trust me, though. If you ever find yourself asking, wouldn’t all this research into making wine encourage you to try some? The answer to that is a definitive NO. :)
As for what’s next, well, I have a brand new fantasy, with new characters, a new world, and a new type of magic in the works. It’s taking a little time to properly develop, so I’ll be starting that as soon as it’s ready. Since NaNoWriMo (annual challenge in November, where authors try to write a 50K book in a month) is just around the corner, I’ve instead elected to write the next novel in my Corgi Case Files series. This time, Zack and Jillian are heading south, for some much needed relaxation. However, as is the case with many of us, even our best laid plans can hit a snag or two. In this case, it might be three or four.
Keep an eye on the blog. I’ve closed my CafePress account and have created a Zazzle account, which means be on the lookout for some contests where you can win some merchandise! I’ll even include some signed paperbacks.
Case of the Highland House Haunting Page 19